


You are born for this

by LadyJessYU



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: implied clarke griffin/lexa, implied lexa/costia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4828880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJessYU/pseuds/LadyJessYU
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You never wanted this. However, this is not about what you want, this is about what the spirit wants. The spirit has chosen, it wants you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You are born for this

**Author's Note:**

> Posted months ago on fanfic.net

You are fifteen when you go into your first battle. Yes, you have been in combat before. You have hunted both animals and men, there is blood on your hands and couple of scars on your body to testify to that but this… this is different. Thousands of your people march into death. You are told to great death proudly, death is not the end. This is your final test. After this you will prove your worth. But truly, you just want to survive.

The horn sounds and you race. You scream at the top of your lungs and pray it sounds like a war cry. The truth is you are scared out of your mind, you need to stay close to Anya but ten minutes into battle and you cannot spot her. You never wanted this, you were never meant to be a warrior.

It feels like it will never end. You push forward, the weapon heavy in your arms, drenched in sticky blood, the handle glued to your skin. The blade cuts through enemy’s flesh like it is nothing. You stand on top of your enemy, a girl not much older then you, and you hear the horn from your side. In the haze of the battle you do not recognize the sound, it is not the one you have heard before. You run the blade through the girl’s chest before she can overpower you and look up on the battlefield. Your people are retreating and you do not know why. The sickening sound is not the one of retreat. It feels like daggers piercing your head, paralyzing your senses. You turn left and right but you cannot see. Strange images flash before your eyes. You do not understand. “Anya…” she finds you, she is shouting, shaking your shoulders but you do not hear her. Only that sound. You can no longer take the pressure; you fall on your knees and scream. This time you do not care what it sounds like, you just want to overthrow the sound of the horn. Anya is trying to drag you back… black spots everywhere, they grow until all you know is darkness.

You are on the battlefield, yet you are not supposed to be in that position. Everything about you feels strange, too heavy, still indescribably stealthy. Your cuts are smoother and swift like nothing can stop you. But that is not you, you are not in control of anything. The image suddenly changes, your eyelids flutter open and you see a woman from your tribe hovering over you. Everything inside of you hurts, your throat is dry. You try to ask for water, once, twice, but nothing. Your body refuses to obey. You close your eyes and you soon find yourself on the battlefield again.

The strangely vivid images alternate couple of times before you can finally move your head. You take in the surroundings. There are four guards in the tent. Two people on your left are, like yourself, lying on cots. You stare at them, they say nothing. Confusion is evident on their faces. A woman rushes to your side to inspect you.

“What happened?” you manage to utter. You can barely recognize you own hoarse voice.

She doesn’t respond. She turns to the guards and one of them exits. Just as you gather enough strength to ask again, a dozen of warriors burst into the tent. Not just any warriors but generals, heads of villages. They pick all of you from the cots.

“Anya… “ you see her. Anya will tell you what is happening. She is silent, her unreadable expression in place, “Anya?” you plead again in vain.

You are trying to make sense of all of this. Anya spoke of true warrior initiation, this was not it. And the boy… no, the man next to you is already a seasoned warrior. You can spot the black marks on his neck and arms. Perhaps this is the retribution for your cowardly behavior. A warrior cannot scram like a child... This is the end, you know it as you are being pushed into the Commander’s tent. Perhaps you will have a chance to somehow explain yourself.

But the tent is empty. The whole village was empty now that you think of it.

“Choose one item from the table.” one of the generals orders, “Do not speak. Once you pick the item there is no return.”

The three of you approach the table. Nobody moves. There are maps scattered all over the table, war plans. A curved blade, a long stick, gloves, fur, stale bread… you understand less than before. You turn to the two people who are suffering the same faith as you but they are examining the items themselves. You spot a simple goblet and absentmindedly pick it up. Perhaps it is the thirst that makes the choice. The warrior picks a blade and you think you might have made a mistake. What kind of warrior does not pick a weapon?! The other girl realizes that too, moves her hand, which a moment ago was hovering over a map, and picks the long stick.

The general then guides you into a makeshift ring. He explains the rules. It is simple - fight to the death. You shudder and clutch the goblet. This is how your short life will end. You never wanted this. You were supposed to be a simple hunter not a warrior.

Before you know it, the girl lungs towards the warrior and you decide to do the same. Eliminate the bigger threat first. But he is faster. He kicks you in the stomach, you fly backwards like you’re a ragged doll, dropping the goblet on the dusty ground. You pick yourself up just in time to see him snap the girl’s neck. You’re next. You search for the girl’s weapon but your opponent tosses it out of the ring. You set yourself in a fighting position, hoping your trim body and speed will do.

He moves towards you, clean blade glistening in the Sun. It is thirsty for your blood. He swings, you duck then deliver a blow to his side. You dance around each other, he too is weary but determined to prevail. His eyes dart to the spectators or judges, you are not sure what their role is. In the moment you kick the blade out of his hand and it lands out of your reach. At least now you are both weaponless. Fury burns in his eyes; he wrestles you to the ground. His hands are around your neck. You try to fight back but he is too strong. Your misty eyes plead for help. From anyone. Just as you are about to give in, your hand brushes something hard. It is the goblet you so thoughtlessly picked. You grab it and hit as hard as you can. You assailant falls, you jump on him. The tables are tuned now and you strike again and again, even after all the movements have ceased. At some point, the blood-stained goblet drops from your hand. Anya approaches and picks you up like she did many times before. You stand wobbly in your feet. You are alive. It is over.

Or so you think. A guard places something heavy on your shoulder and people start to chant. “Heda, Heda, Heda…” people you were never allowed to look directly in the eye now bow to you. You realize what is happening but it is too late.

Anya squeezes your upper arm and whispers ”I knew it would be you.”

You never wanted this. However, this is not about what you want, this is about what the spirit wants. The spirit has chosen, it wants you.

At long last, they bathe you and clean your wounds. They give you food and water and you take it greedily like a child. You are a child in warrior terms. What must they think of it all? A fifteen-year-old Commander, not yet a true warrior.

The other clans will attack soon. Nobody tells you what to do, the spirit will tell you, the spirit knows. Only it doesn’t. Or you do not understand the spirit. And there is nobody on Earth that could understand the burden thrust upon you.

The generals, your generals advise you what to do. But the final decision is all yours, along with all the repercussions. You must deal with the rebels in your in midst first. One of the generals questions your place. They tie him to a pole and you run the sword through him. That night you cry while a girl helps you remove what’s left of the war paint. You’ll probably have to kill her too. The Commander must not allow others to see her weak.

In the end you don’t kill her. You fall in love with her instead. The world outside is chaos, inside you a storm. One night she presses her lips against yours and you experience serenity. From that moment on nothing seems hard (training with Anya, strategizing, simultaneously planning war and peace) because you know she is yours and you are hers. You start to work on uniting the twelve clans, for everyone’s sake.

You are careless and naïve still, the Ice Nation takes her from you and you attack with all you have. You need her back no matter the cost. When they deliver you her mutilated corpse you attack even harder. Only when you lose half of your army do you admit the defeat. You weep all night for her, for your warriors, for all the children you orphaned because you sought revenge.

When you burn her body you promise yourself never to let your heart choose again. You are chosen to lead your people. They deserve better than what you offered them so far. Your people come first, your heart has no role in your decisions whatsoever. From that point on you are solely the Commander, you can never be a friend or a lover again. You are Heda; that is the only role you are to perform.

Out of the ashes of your lover you build the walls around what’s left of your heart. Two years later a princess falls from the sky, threatening to tear them down.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
